The dagger gleamed silver in moonlight as it pressed against my throat.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" Lysandra's voice was silk wrapped around steel, her breath warm against my ear. "The way you've been watching me? Like you already know my secrets?"
Three days. It had taken her three days to corner me alone in the academy's moonlit gardens. Three days to realize that something fundamental had changed in Eryndor Thorne.
"I don't know what you mean," I whispered, though my pulse hammered against the blade's edge.
Her laugh was winter wind through dead leaves. "Liar. You looked at me in that hall like you'd seen a ghost. Like you knew exactly what I was capable of."
The pressure increased, just enough to draw a thin line of blood. She was testing me, measuring my reactions. Gathering intelligence the same way she had before, when I'd been too blinded by attraction to see the predator beneath the beauty.
"Maybe I just have good instincts," I said carefully.
"Maybe you do." The dagger vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, sliding back into the hidden sheath at her thigh. "Or maybe someone's been whispering in your ear."
She stepped back, but not far. Close enough that I could see the calculation in those emerald eyes, the way she catalogued every micro-expression on my face. This wasn't the innocent noble daughter she pretended to be in daylight.
"Who told you about House Varien's... activities?" she asked.
Activities. Such a delicate word for treason, murder, and the systematic destruction of political rivals. But I couldn't let her know how much I understood. Not yet.
"Nobody tells me anything," I said, touching the shallow cut on my throat. "I'm just a minor lord's son from the northern provinces."
"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't play that humble fool routine with me. I've seen how you move in combat practice. I've watched you solve Master Huo's theoretical puzzles before he's finished explaining them. You're hiding something."
She was right, of course. The memories of my previous life made it impossible to truly play the naive fifteen-year-old. Advanced cultivation techniques bled through in unguarded moments. Tactical knowledge surfaced during strategy discussions. I was a master pretending to be a student, and apparently not doing it well enough.
"Everyone hides something," I said. "The question is whether it matters."
Her eyes narrowed. "With House Varien, everything matters. My father doesn't appreciate... complications."
The threat was clear. Duke Aldric Varien dealt with complications the same way he dealt with all obstacles – thoroughly and permanently. I remembered the stories from my first life, whispered rumors of rivals who simply vanished in the night.
"Then it's fortunate I'm not complicated," I lied.
"Aren't you?" She moved closer again, close enough that her skirts brushed my legs. "Because from where I stand, Eryndor Thorne, you're the most complicated thing I've encountered in years."
Heat radiated between us despite the danger, despite everything I knew about how this would end. The same magnetic pull that had doomed me before was already reasserting itself, drawing me toward the flame that would eventually consume everything I cared about.
"You're imagining things," I said, but my voice came out rougher than intended.
"Am I?" Her hand rose to trace the cut she'd made, fingers coming away stained with my blood. "Because I think you know exactly who I am. What I represent. And you're still here, still talking to me, still letting me get close enough to hurt you."
She was right. Any sane person would have walked away the moment they recognized her true nature. But sanity was a luxury I couldn't afford. Not when she held pieces of the puzzle I needed to solve.
"Maybe I like danger," I said.
"Maybe you do." Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Or maybe you're more like your father than anyone realizes."
My blood turned to ice. "What do you know about my father?"
"I know he's been asking questions. Poking around in affairs that don't concern him. Making certain people... nervous." She leaned closer, voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "People who don't like being nervous."
Lord Marcus Thorne. In my memories of the previous timeline, he'd died in a hunting accident six months after I started at the academy. An accident that had left me isolated, vulnerable, dependent on the very people who were orchestrating my destruction.
"My father is an honorable man," I said carefully.
"Honor is a luxury for people who can afford it." Lysandra's fingers traced patterns on my chest, over where my heart hammered against my ribs. "Your father can't. Not anymore."
The casual cruelty in her voice was breathtaking. She was telling me that my father was already marked for death, and she was enjoying every moment of my reaction.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Smart boy. Finally asking the right questions." She stepped back, smoothing her dress with practiced elegance. "I want to know what game you're really playing. Because this innocent act? It's not fooling anyone who matters."
A sound echoed through the gardens – footsteps on gravel paths. Someone was coming. Lysandra's expression shifted instantly, the predator vanishing behind a mask of sweet nobility.
"Eryndor?" Cedric's voice carried through the night air. "You out here, brother?"
"Here," I called back, never taking my eyes off Lysandra.
She smiled, all sweetness and light. "How lovely. We'll have company."
Cedric emerged from the shadows between two ancient oak trees, his academy robes pristine despite the late hour. He took in the scene – Lysandra and me standing close together in the moonlight – and his expression flickered with something that might have been annoyance.
"Lady Varien. I didn't expect to find you wandering the gardens so late."
"I couldn't sleep," she said with perfect innocence. "Too excited about tomorrow's advanced combat trials. Lord Thorne was kind enough to keep me company."
"How gallant of him." Cedric's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Though perhaps we should escort you back to the women's dormitory? These gardens can be dangerous after dark."
"Dangerous how?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew.
"Wild animals," Cedric said smoothly. "Wolves, mostly. They've been getting bolder lately, coming closer to human settlements. Several attacks reported in the villages nearby."
Wolves. The same excuse they'd used to explain away inconvenient deaths in my previous life. Amazing how many people seemed to fall victim to wolf attacks in the middle of civilized areas.
"How terrifying," Lysandra said, though she looked more amused than afraid. "Perhaps you gentlemen should walk me back? For safety?"
We flanked her as we walked through the gardens, three young nobles playing at friendship while currents of suspicion and calculation swirled beneath the surface. Cedric made casual conversation about the next day's trials, but I could feel his attention focused on Lysandra and me.
"You two seem to have become quite close," he observed as we reached the women's dormitory.
"Lord Thorne is... interesting company," Lysandra replied, her eyes meeting mine with hidden meaning. "We were just discussing family histories. Fascinating stuff."
"I'm sure it was." Cedric's tone suggested anything but certainty. "Well, good night, Lady Varien. Pleasant dreams."
She curtsied gracefully, every inch the perfect noble daughter. "Good night, gentlemen. I look forward to seeing you both in action tomorrow."
As she disappeared into the dormitory, Cedric turned to me with a expression I couldn't quite read. "Careful, brother."
"Of what?"
"Girls like that." He nodded toward the building where Lysandra had vanished. "They're beautiful, intelligent, dangerous. The kind who can make a man forget who his real friends are."
The irony was staggering. Cedric Ravenwood, the architect of my previous destruction, warning me about the dangers of trusting the wrong people.
"I can handle myself," I said.
"Can you?" His hand fell on my shoulder with false brotherly warmth. "Because from where I stood, it looked like she had you completely under her spell. That's not like you, Eryndor. You're usually more... careful."
He was fishing again, probing for information about why I'd changed. How much did he already know? How much did any of them know?
"Maybe I'm growing up," I said.
"Maybe." But his eyes remained calculating. "Just remember what I said about flying too close to the sun. Some flames burn hotter than others."
We walked back toward the men's dormitory in silence, but I could feel Cedric's attention like a weight on my shoulders. He was evaluating, planning, adjusting his strategies based on new information.
In my room, I locked the door and checked the windows before allowing myself to truly process what had just happened. Lysandra knew. Not everything, perhaps, but enough to be suspicious. Enough to be dangerous.
And my father was already in their crosshairs.
I moved to my desk and pulled out paper and ink. A letter home, carefully worded to seem like normal filial communication. But buried within the innocent news about academy life was a warning. Coded phrases my father would recognize, telling him to be careful, to watch for enemies wearing friendly faces.
It might not be enough. In the previous timeline, nothing had been enough to save him. But I had to try.
A soft knock interrupted my writing. I froze, hand moving instinctively toward the practice sword hanging on my wall. At this hour, visitors meant trouble.
"Who is it?" I called softly.
"A friend." The voice was elderly, measured. Familiar. "May I come in?"
Master Huo. What was he doing here so late? I opened the door to find the ancient cultivator standing in the hallway, his white robes gleaming in the lamplight.
"Master. This is... unexpected."
"May I?" He gestured toward the room, and I stepped aside to let him enter.
He moved with that fluid grace that marked truly advanced practitioners, settling into my desk chair with economical precision. His eyes took in the half-written letter, the defensive positioning of my furniture, the subtle signs of someone living with constant vigilance.
"You're afraid," he observed.
It wasn't a question. There was no point in denying it.
"Shouldn't I be?"
"That depends." His fingers drummed against the desk surface. "On what you know that you shouldn't. On who you've been talking to. On whether the dreams that wake you screaming are memories or prophecies."
My blood went cold. He knew. Somehow, impossibly, he knew.
"I don't understand what you mean," I said carefully.
"Don't you?" He leaned forward, ancient eyes piercing straight through me. "Tell me, young Thorne – when you look at Cedric Ravenwood, what do you see?"
The question hung in the air like a blade. How I answered would determine everything that came next.
"I see my friend," I said finally. "My brother in all but blood."
Master Huo's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air around him. Disappointment, perhaps. Or confirmation of suspicions he'd hoped were wrong.
"And Lady Varien?"
"A beautiful, intelligent young woman from a powerful family."
"Nothing more?"
I met his gaze steadily. "What else would there be?"
He was silent for a long moment, studying me with those penetrating eyes. When he spoke again, his voice carried the weight of centuries.
"There are forces at work in this academy, young Thorne. Old debts coming due. Old enemies settling scores. The wise student learns to recognize the difference between friend and foe before the blade finds their back."
"And if I can't tell the difference?"
"Then you'll die the same death twice." He stood, moving toward the door. "Sleep well, young Thorne. Tomorrow's trials will reveal more than anyone expects."
He paused at the threshold, not looking back. "Oh, and Eryndor? Next time you write to your father, you might want to use a cipher he actually knows. The Academy has many eyes, and not all of them are friendly."
The door closed behind him, leaving me alone with the crushing realization that nothing I did was secret. Nothing I planned was hidden. I was surrounded by enemies who knew more about my situation than I knew about theirs.
I tore up the letter and started again, this time using a code my father and I had developed years ago for hunting expeditions. A simple thing, based on shared memories that predated any political complications.
But even as I wrote, I couldn't shake the feeling that it was already too late. That every move I made was anticipated, every strategy countered before I could even implement it.
The Keeper had been right. Six months wasn't enough time. Not when my enemies had been planning this for years, not when they knew the shape of my previous defeat and could anticipate how I'd try to avoid it.
But I had advantages too. Knowledge of their ultimate goals. Understanding of their weaknesses. And most importantly, the cold fury of someone who'd already lost everything once.
I finished the letter and sealed it with wax, pressing my family ring into the soft surface. Tomorrow I'd find a way to send it that didn't involve the academy's compromised postal system.
As I prepared for bed, a sound caught my attention. Voices drifting through my window from the gardens below. I extinguished my lamp and peered through the glass.
Three figures stood beneath the ancient oak where Cedric had found us earlier. Even in the moonlight, I recognized them: Lysandra, Cedric, and a third person whose identity sent ice through my veins.
Lord Marvyn. The puppet master himself, here at the academy when he should have been hundreds of miles away at the capital.
Their voices were too low to make out words, but their body language spoke volumes. Lysandra was reporting, Cedric was arguing about something, and Marvyn... Marvyn was listening with the patience of a spider in its web.
Then all three looked up at my window simultaneously, as if they could feel my gaze upon them. I stepped back quickly, heart hammering against my ribs.
When I looked again, they were gone.
I sank onto my bed, running shaking hands through my hair. The game was accelerating faster than I'd expected. The players were moving into position months ahead of schedule.
And I was still the same weak, trusting fool who believed he could somehow change the ending.
But as I lay in the darkness, listening to the night sounds of the academy, something cold and determined crystallized in my chest. Let them plan. Let them scheme. Let them believe they held all the advantages.
This time, when the blades came out, I wouldn't be the only one bleeding.
This time, I'd make sure they paid in kind for every betrayal, every lie, every moment of agony they'd put me through.
The Uncrowned Prince was done playing defense.
It was time to remind them why they'd needed to kill me in the first place.